She set the knife on the work table and drew her thumb along the shallow cut, wiping away the blood. The cut stung and oozed more blood. Rubbing her wrist absently against the side of her breast, she wandered outside, shivering as the frosty morning breeze hit her skin. For a moment she thought of going inside and putting on a robe, but she wasn’t bothered enough to make the effort. She looked at her wrist; the cut was clotted over; the blood seepage had stopped.

Ignoring the bite of dew that felt like snowmelt on her bare feet, she walked down the long grassy slope to the water and stood at the edge of the small beach listening to the saltwater lap lazily at the sand and gazing across the narrow strait to a nearby island, a high rocky thing sculpted by wind and water into an abstract pillar, barren except for a few gray and orange lichens. All the islands around Jal Virri were like that; it was as if the lovely green isle had drawn the life out of them and spent it on itself. Arms huddled across her breasts, hands shaking though they were closed tight about her biceps, her feet blocks of ice with smears of black soil and scraps of grass pasted on them, she watched the dark water come and go until she couldn’t stand the cold any longer. It’s time we went to Kukurul again, Maks and me, or me alone, if he won’t come. She stood quite still for a breath or two. I don’t think I’m coming back. I don’t know what it is I’m going to do, but I can’t vegetate here any longer. She turned and walked back toward the house. I’ve been sleeping and now I’m awake. I never could stay in bed once I woke up.

2

“Hoist it, Maksi.” She jerked the covers off him, slapped him on a meaty buttock. “Wake up, you bonelazy magicman, I need you.”